


Her Defenses

by bleedingrose0688



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-07-06 16:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15889428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedingrose0688/pseuds/bleedingrose0688
Summary: "What do you two see in me that makes you want to try and fix me?" A new life in Boston meant giving up everything she had back home. That never meant that she had to give up her defenses at the same time. Rated M for language and (future) adult situations.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally did this on FF.net but as I sat down this weekend and re-read it I realized that I wasn't satisfied with what was put out there. So I've decided to re-write it and see where it leads. I will still leave the original on FF.net for those that want to read it but this is the re-write.

** Chapter 1 **

"The night was…"

So, here I am again on another Friday night, it is payday and the end of a long week. I should be out having dinner at the bar with a few friends or kicking back a few brews at a hockey game, but no. I am at home, in my pajamas, watching _Throw Momma From the Train_. I would feel somewhat lonely if it wasn't for the fact that I have two cats; both of whom are curled up sleeping on both my legs, only waking when I cannot stop myself from laughing at Danny DeVito hitting Billy Crystal in the head with a cast iron frying pan while the eggs go flying to the floor.

It wasn't until the movie was over when I received a message from an old friend from back home that I realized how much I missed my old life (at least pieces of it anyway).

I moved my entire life (for the second time) and my cats to jump head first into my career field. Prior to leaving I was temporarily living at my parents’ home just browsing through job listings for anything that was related to anthropology and/or archaeology.  A phone call from my aunt in Boston with a lead was all it took to get the ball rolling.  I sent in an application and resume then played the waiting game to see if I would even get a response other than the typical “sorry we’re going with other candidates at this time but good luck” that I had been getting for the past several weeks.

The six weeks it took from the time I sent my stuff off to the time I got the initial phone interview was slow as molasses. In that time I wound up getting a job as a delivery driver, just to be able to make _some_ money so I could help pay the bills.  It then took another four weeks for them to call me back to say they wanted to do an in-person interview.  It wasn’t until I was on a plane to Boston that I was grateful to have taken that delivery position – the money I made from my tips alone was enough to pay for my plane ticket there and back.

Finally, a month after that in-person interview, I got the call back saying that I got the job. It was a lab tech position at the USS Constitution Museum; it was entry level, but at that point I would take just about anything as long as I got to put my Bachelor's to work for me. I did not spend all that time and money to get it and have it go to waste

Shortly after I started at the museum, I decided that the next logical step was to go back and work on my Master's. Granted, anthropology as a whole is a limited field, but being able to find a school that would enable me to pursue my ambitions was tougher than finding a job and a roof over my head. I eventually settled on Boston University to pursue a Master's in Forensic Anthropology. I also, somehow, managed to talk a few people at the University into letting me study linguistics as an undergrad.

In short, I managed to keep myself busy, but between work and school I always feel like I’m neglecting my poor cats. They very seldom see me and when they do they just want me to play with them and cuddle them; of course they want to have their food and water bowls filled and their litter boxes cleaned out but that’s a given.  I feel horrible when I have to push them away, saying that I’m too busy with homework or that I’m too tired to play with them.

But not tonight.

I quickly texted my friend back, changed into a pair of jeans and grabbed the cats' harnesses and leashes deciding that the three of us needed to get out for a bit and do some bonding. Trust me, I know it may look strange to walk a pair of cats on leashes on the streets of Boston, but the boys love being out in the fresh air and it's a good excuse to not have to a) clean out the litter boxes and b) watch them fill it up again not even 5 minutes later. Who could argue with free fertilizer?

Generally speaking, I haven't left my apartment much since moving to Boston. Of course I’d leave to go to the grocery store like clockwork every Saturday morning and on occasion I’d bump into my neighbor but other than that I had no real reason to leave the confines of my apartment. If I wanted some fresh air all I had to do was go out and sit on the fire escape.  Although doing so meant having to deal with the never ending frat party two floors up.

The lady next door says it’s only two guys living there but if that were true then they sure do make a lot of fucking noise.

Like all major cities Boston still has its crime rates and every day the murder count increases. Unlike all major cities though, Boston’s crime rates are due in part to the mafias.  The three major ones are the Irish, Italians, and Russians.  Living in an Irish neighborhood the Irish mafia doesn’t really bother anyone unless someone goes around stepping on their toes.  The Russians and the Italians on the other hand, those guys like to cause trouble.  Lately we’ve had the Russians streaming in buying up buildings left and right.  Rumor has it they’re forcing the bar down the street to close.

Then you got just the plain old, run of the mill type of criminal. The ones who hide out in the alleys, waiting for the opportune moment to grab a girl and rape her or pick-pocket someone as they walk past.  You’ve got your pimps and hoes on the street corners just as night begins to fall.  You’ve got your drug dealers who get busted on a deal then are back out on the streets doing it again in less than 24 hours.

If only vigilantism were legal…

I went with my gut tonight and decided to not only carry my pepper spray with me, but I also strapped my pistol to the belt loops of my jeans. It wasn't anything fancy; my dad had given me a Sig Sauer P229 as a parting gift. The best advice he'd given me to date was to make sure it was always loaded with one in the chamber. I never thought I would actually have to use it, but it was better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it.

I managed to get the boys into their harnesses and attached the leashes with relatively few scratches this time around. Normally they tag-team me with one going after my arms and the other going after my legs, but once I managed to get the door of the apartment opened they ran out as quickly as they could. The building that I live in would not have been my first choice but considering that it was cheap, err… rather illegal loft housing, I took my chances.

When I first moved here my aunt and uncle invited me to stay with them for as long as I wanted. It was a tempting offer considering that they lived in one of the more swanky parts of town but it just didn’t feel right.  It didn’t feel like home and I felt so out of place being there.  Just about every night at dinner my aunt would rattle off some nonsense she saw on the news which would turn into a story of “did you know…” and my uncle would be right there with her talking about how it was this politician’s fault or that politician’s fault.  Then there were the nights when they’d ask how my day was.  One particular night I made mention that I had spoken with one of my aunts, on my dad’s side, in Texas and was thinking about making a trip down that summer to visit.  What did my aunt and uncle do?  My aunt started giving me a history lesson on the state of Texas and my uncle started listing all the reasons why he hated former President Bush.

The two of them were driving me so far up the damn wall I had to get out of there. The few friends I did make at work suggested looking in the paper for something that was close to the transit systems, which is what I started out doing.  Then these same work friends took me out for a night of drinking.  Somehow we wound up at this bar called McGinty’s, the same one the Russians are threatening to close, and the bartender made a suggestion on this building.  Despite his Tourette’s he said two of his favorite patrons lived there and they took care of quite a few people.

In a way the old bartender was right; his two favorite patrons did take care of people who lived in their building. Some days I could smell fresh baked bread coming from the lady next door.  When I finally got the nerve to ask her about it she said she always bakes two loaves every week – one for herself and one for the boys upstairs.  According to her, they helped her move in when the movers dumped all of her belongings on the curb when her check bounced.  Some mornings I’d be running so late for work that one of them will be standing by the front door of building holding the door open for me so I didn’t run face first into (again).

That was a fun morning!

I was running late because the cats had decided sometime during the night to bat my shoes around the apartment. I found one right away poking out from under the stove but the other was shoved under the couch and pressed against the wall; I had to pull the couch out to try and get it, when that didn’t work I had to use the handle of the broom to drag it out.  When both of my shoes were on my feet I rushed out the door only to realize I left my keys inside and the door was unlocked.  After running back inside to get the keys and lock the door I discovered that the elevator was out of service.  My only other option was to take the stairs and by the time I reached the first floor I was already ten minutes late and had missed my train.  I had no choice but to take the car and fight traffic.  In my haste to leave the building I ended up running face first into the glass door.

The guys that were just on the other side were doing their best to stifle their laughs but it was no use. They opened the door and helped me to my feet in between giggles of “are ya alright lass?”  My face was as red as a tomato with embarrassment but I forced out a quick “I’m fine” and was on my way to the parking garage across the street.

Someone must’ve told them which unit was mine because the next morning when I opened my door to go to work there was a note taped to my door reminding me to be more careful and a small Band-Aid in case my nose was busted. A few weeks after that there was another note taped to my door with one of those Ace bandages sitting on the floor; apparently they had heard about me twisting my ankle at work the day before.

Approaching the elevator I pressed the down button and waited. I gave a shutter as the wheels and gears grinded against each other and offered up a quick, silent prayer that I didn’t get stuck on this contraption.  Knowing my luck the wires would snap and this metal death trap would go plummeting down to the ground so damn fast my neck would already be broken by the time it hit the bottom of the shaft.  Once it finally grinded to a stop, I pulled open the doors and climbed inside, thankful that it was empty.  Grasping the strap, I pulled the doors shut and hit the button for the ground level.  The cats were huddled together in the corner, sniffing around until their noses hit something repulsive.  They both looked at me with their mouths hanging open for a second or two before they took off for another corner only to discover it smelled just as bad.

I would've kissed the ground when the elevator stopped, but not knowing what kinds of things had fallen on the ground, I opted for a quick "thank God!" The boys had a pleasant walk despite getting the odd looks from strangers and a group of teenagers exclaiming "black cats are bad luck" when we passed by. Yes, black cats have a bad reputation, especially with today being Friday the 13th, but my boys are nothing but sweethearts who want nothing more than to be loved. I wish I could say though that the way back home was just as pleasant. They freaked the fuck out when a siren started going off just a few blocks away followed by gun shots, so I had the misfortune of carrying them back home. It was times like this that I'm also thankful that I grabbed their carrier before we left.

Once the boys were safely stowed away in their carrier, I high-tailed it back home but as I crossed in front of one of the alleys I felt something catch on my hair. In my naivety, I had thought it was just caught on some invisible force like a spider web. I felt myself being dragged backwards into the alley when my instincts kicked in; I hated having to do it, but I dropped the carrier my cats were in and pulled the pepper spray from my pocket. Unfortunately, I panicked and dropped the canister. My attacker threw me against the wall and upon glancing up saw that his face was covered (the pepper spray wouldn't have done any good had I been able to use it). My head hit the wall pretty hard so I had no clue what it was he was muttering, something about killing me and then killing my cats. There was no way in hell some stupid motherfucker was going to hurt my cats.

Before I had a chance to grab my pistol out the holster, I felt a sharp sting pierce through my left shoulder. He wrenched the blade around in my shoulder for what seemed like an eternity, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins told me to grab the pistol and fire. I did just that. I flipped the safety off and pressed the barrel into his left shoulder. Squeezing the trigger, I fired a single shot into his shoulder and once he lurched back in pain, I squeezed off a couple more rounds, not really caring where they hit, put the safety back on, grabbed the cats, and ran like hell all the back home.

It wasn't until I reached the confines of the elevator that I heard an accented voice ask if I was alright, exclaiming that I looked like I just ran a half marathon in a somewhat amused tone of voice. I muttered, more to myself, that I was fine and quickly climbed out once the elevator reached the third floor. I wanted nothing more at this point than to get the cats inside and check them for any injuries. It didn't dawn on me that in my haste to make sure the cats were okay that I had forgotten to lock the deadbolt and throw the chain on the door.


	2. Chapter 2

** Chapter 2 **

As the sound of a floor board somewhere near the threshold creaked under the heel of a heavy footstep hit my ears, I quickly threw the door to the cat carrier back in place and made a grab for my pistol. I had just managed to get the safety off when a strong grip latched onto my wrist and twisted it around, forcing me to drop my only remaining means of protection. My head quickly shot up only to be met with a pair of blue eyes and a nameless face.

"Fer someone who claims ta be fine, ya certainly don't look it," he said rather calmly as he eased his grip on my wrist. "I don't t'ink I've ever seen ya around here before.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to remember my face but I’m sure you remember laughing hysterically at the girl who ran face first into the door last month.”

“Guess I didn’t recognize ya with yer hair pulled up. But dat was different, yer nose wasn’t bleeding and da only t’ing dat was damaged was yer pride.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Ya left yer keys in da door.” He answered, producing my keys from some hiding place on his person and setting them on the table.

The cats rattling around in their carrier caused enough of a distraction that, for the moment, I forgot there was a stranger in my home. Reluctantly, I got up from the floor and shut the door to prevent the cats from running out before letting them out of their prison.  Once they were freed I went into the bathroom to attempt to clean my fresh stab wound.  No amount of peroxide and cold water could ever get the blood out so needless to say my shirt was a total loss.

“Um, you wouldn’t happen to know where the nearest urgent care center is, do you?” I asked, calling out from behind the semi-closed door.

A knock on the door startled me as I stood transfixed in front of the mirror dabbing a steady stream of blood with an old rag. A head of dark hair poked through the door before the rest of him appeared in the tiny room.  Gently, he placed his hands around my arms and guided me to sit on the toilet seat.

“Closest one closed an hour ago; probably needs a few stitches.” He started, moving the rag aside to have a look. “Dis time of night, not safe ta be going back out dere on yer own.  Dere’s an ER a few blocks down dat me brudder and I have gone to after we’ve gotten inta one of our scrapes.  Folks dere are real nice and dey’ll work with ya if yer strapped fer cash.”

“Think they’ll ask questions?”

“Aye, and probably call da cops.”

“Fuck.”

Sighing, I shook my head and threw the bloody rag into the sink. The action was enough to cause a sharp hiss to escape through my teeth but the pain subsided as quickly as came about.  Frustration started seeping in knowing this night couldn’t possibly get any worse.  Once again I left the dark-haired stranger alone in some room of my home when I exited the bathroom to make a beeline for the kitchen.  If I had to deal with the cops on this one then I needed something to take the edge off.  Opening the fridge, I pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey and took a long, healthy pull.

“T’ink ya could give me brudder a fair run fer his money drinking like dat.”

“I hate dealing with cops and I hate hospitals.” I answered, screwing the cap back on and placing the bottle back into the fridge.

“We’ll walk ya down, stay with ya ‘til dey patch ya up. Bring ya home safe and sound.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t believe you right away. I mean you did just walk into my home, unannounced, and took away my only other means of protection.  How do I know that you and your brother won’t drag me off into some alley, rape me, then shoot me to death with my own gun?”

He disappeared from the kitchen for only a second or two before returning with my gun in hand. Swallowing the growing lump in my throat, I watched carefully as he put the safety on and removed the clip.  The air grew steadily thicker as I waited for something to happen.  When it finally did, it was not what I was expecting.

“Ever used it before?”

“Just for target practice, never thought I would actually have too.” I answered as I propped myself against the counter. “I hope the fucker bleeds to death so he can never hurt another person.”

“Ya know dey won’t let ya take dis in da ER ot’erwise I’d tell ya dat if we try anyt’ing ta just shoot us where we stood,” sliding the clip back in, he cautiously approached me, handing the weapon over once he was within arm’s reach. “If eit’er of us tries somet’ing ya don’t like feel free ta stab us with a scalpel, dere should be plenty in da t’ird drawer of da room.”

Taking my gun back, I placed it on the counter and mulled over the different scenarios that just seemed to pop into my head. So many what if’s, so many things that could go wrong.  But I really needed to get this taken care of and soon because that dose of liquid courage probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do to numb the pain.

“Alright,” I conceded, “let’s go to the hospital, get this done and over with before I change my mind and do it myself.”

 

Glancing up from the most interesting place on the floor, I caught my stranger grimace and his shoulders shake, like a chill had moved up his body.

“T’ink dat’s really da smartest t’ing ta do?”

“Probably not but it wouldn’t be the first time I had to patch myself up. Go get your brother before I change my mind.  Do you think it’d be better to call the cops now and just get the report done and over with or wait until the hospital calls?”

“Not a bad idea ta get it over with now. I’ll go get me shit fer brains brudder and be back in a bit, promise I’ll knock dis time.”

He left without saying another word, the door quietly clicking shut behind him. I waited until I could no longer hear footsteps in the hallway before I hopped up on the counter to retrieve the phone, dialing the number posted on the fridge for the nearest precinct.  It wasn’t until the fifth ring when someone finally picked up, though they did sound kind of frazzled.  Like maybe they just got off the phone with a stressful individual or maybe they had just gotten their ass chewed out by their superiors.

“Boston P.D.”

“Uh, hi I need to speak with someone about a stabbing.”

“Should’ve dialed 9-1-1 miss, that’s what it’s there for.”

“Not everyone has cell phones and I wanted to report it before I went to the hospital and the staff there did it for me.”

“We’re a little short-staffed right now, got a triple homicide and most everyone is out there. I can put you through to someone’s voicemail and they’ll call you back later tonight or in the morning.”

“Why can’t you take the report? Didn’t they teach you how to push papers in the academy or were you out sick that day?”

As I continued to press the officer on the other line to take the report, a knock sounded on the door. Briefly I asked for Officer Dipshit to hang on while I checked to see who it was.  Despite his protests and the alarm in his voice not to put the phone down, that it could be the perp, I set the phone on the counter and walked towards the door.  Even with that faint thought burning in the back of my head that it could be someone else I found relief when I saw Stranger Danger and his tagalong.

“Ma’am I told you not to answer the door that it c-”

“That it could be the perp but it wasn’t. Now are you going to at least take down a partial report tonight or leave it for someone else to do in the morning?”

Hopping back up on the counter the pair entered into the kitchen as I started to relay the important parts of the story. As I observed the pair, one found sudden interest in the contents of my pantry while the other was interested in what the oven might hold.  When they got bored with that they took a seat across from each other at the table and began a whispered conversation in what sounded like Italian.  I didn’t bother to pay attention to what they were saying as I wrapped my phone call.

“Everyt’ing alright?”

“I guess, piece of shit cop didn’t want to take down any information, just wanted me to leave a message for one of the detectives.”

“Why didn’t ya talk ta someone in dat department?”

“Guy said there was a triple homicide and everyone went to that. He might be telling the truth, on my way home I heard a bunch of gunshots and hauled ass to get back here.  That’s when I got grabbed.  So is this your brother Shit for Brains?”

“Who ya calling Shit fer Brains? I happen ta be fucking brilliant!  Dis fucker is da shit fer brains!  Ma even said ya were before we left home, said da only time ya weren’t is when you were sleeping.”

“No, she was talking about you! Ya always come up with dese hair brain schemes from somet’ing ya saw in a movie!  Honestly ya watch too many fucking movies as it is,” he scoffed as he began recounting what I assumed to be more recent memories, “Charlie Bronson’s got rope and he always ends up using it.  What’s da deal with da fucking rope, honestly?!”

“Happens ta be a useful t’ing!”

“Well before World War Three breaks out in my kitchen and I have to use the aforementioned fucking rope to hog-tie the pair of you would you mind walking me down to the ER so I can get this stitched up? If you don’t want to that’s fine, I’ll just do it myself.”

“No!” they both shouted, causing my poor cats to scatter for safety beneath the couch.

“Connor’s got a bit of a weak stomach when it comes ta blood. C’mon, let’s go get ya patched up.”

“Not really a weak stomach, just da idea of someone fixing themselves up makes me a bit nauseous.”

“He’s just trying not ta sound like too much of a pussy in front of ya, don’t let dat face fool ya. A couple weeks ago at work dis guy we work with, James McCormick, sliced his finger clean off right at da knuckle.  He screamed his head off at first but den our boss comes running over with da first aid kit and pours half a bottle of dat shit dat bubbles…what’s it called?”

“Peroxide.”

“Yeah, yeah peroxide, pours half a bottle of dat stuff on da cut. Mind ya, Mary was still on da phone trying ta get an ambulance.  Connor here, sees all of dis going on and instead of being a man about it, turns around and hurls up his breakfast from dat morning.  Pancakes, eggs, sausage, toast, even da coffee just a few inches away from where James’ finger was.”

“Shut yer fucking mouth! It’s not like ya did any better!  Don’t ya listen ta word dis fucker says lass.  While da paramedics were busy trying ta get da bleeding under control one of da girls we work with just plopped da damn finger in a cup of ice.  Ole Murph here, his lunch comes up looking like t’ree day old potato soup.”

“Okay you two, just stop. I get it, you both have weak stomachs and are a bit squeamish at the sight of blood.  It’s nothing to be ashamed of, lots of people are the same way.  Now let’s get going.”

Hopping off the counter I walked into the living room and scooped my keys up off the table then proceeded to the door to slip my shoes back on. The strangers I allowed into my home went out ahead of me while I locked the door.  As I approached the elevator I couldn’t stop from cringing as the wheels and gears grinded against one another.

“I wish someone would oil those down or condemn the whole thing altogether.”

“Don’t like lifts?”

“They’re metal death traps as far as I’m concerned. When I was in school for my bachelor’s, I was on my way to class and got stuck in an elevator for what seemed like an eternity.  People around me were as cool as cucumbers and I’m huddled up in a corner panicking.  By the way, I’m a bit claustrophobic if you couldn’t tell.”

“Promise, we won’t let anyt’ing happen to ya on our watch. We’ll get ya ta da hospital safe and sound and if da wire snaps while we’re all in here, we’ll sandwich ya between da pair of us.”

“Well, that’s comforting, I guess. I’ll die sandwiched between two total strangers in a filthy elevator and on my grave marker they’ll put on there that I died having fun.  My death certificate will say that it was a messed up attempt at double penetration that failed miserably.”

“Yer just full of good vibes, aren’t ya?”

“I might be a tad bit more optimistic once we get off this thing.”

“Well, if ya t’ink we’re all gonna die on dis we should at least know yer name, don’t ya t’ink?”

“Nice try,” I snorted, “but until I’m safely back in the confines of my apartment you’re not getting any personal information from me no matter how hard you try. Even if I do make it back here in one piece I probably won’t tell you anything even then.”

“Fair enough. If eit’er of us die I’m Murphy and dis is Connor.  We live up on da fifth floor and our Ma’s phone number is on da table under da ashtrays.”

The night was pretty fucking shitty if you ask me; how could it possibly get any worse?


	3. Chapter 3

** Chapter 3 **

“Since ya don’t really wanna tell us anyt’ing about ya, I guess we’ll do all da talking. We came here a few years ago looking fer somet’ing, didn’t know what at da time.  Our Ma raised us on her own, says our Da walked out when we were only a few years old.  She worked herself to da bone trying ta provide fer us.”

“We travelled around fer a bit before we decided ta call Boston home. When we first got here we only had a few dollars ta our name.  We’d pick up a paper every couple of days and just go t’rough da jobs section fer anyt’ing we could get our hands on.  Fer da most part we’d get somet’ing in construction – roofing, framing, tiling – anyt’ing really, we weren’t all dat picky.”

“But it’d only last few a couple of days den it was back ta searching da papers. It was good money while it lasted; some jobs would pay us nearly twenty bucks an hour and between da two of us, after an eight or ten hour day it’d add up fast.  Of course we were paid in cash and it was all under da table but we’d take what we could get.”

“We just happened across Doc and McGinty’s one night after we finished a job. We sat down at da bar, ordered a pint, and pulled out da paper.  I got up after a few hours ta take a piss and come back ta find Connor talking up a storm with some guy who was pitching a job.  Told da guy if he wanted Connor ta work fer him dat he had ta hire me as well.”

“Found out his name was McGurk and he was a manager fer a meat packing plant; he just fired a group from da first shift fer operating some sort of crime ring out back where dey park da trucks. Told us if we were serious about looking fer work ta swing by da plant at five da next morning and he’d get us set up.”

“Dat was nearly two years ago and t’anks ta McGurk we were able ta settle down in dat flat on da fifth floor. We don’t need much, most of da money we make we send back home ta Ma.  Like we said, she busted her arse ta provide fer us, it was only right dat we try ta do da same fer her.”

Truthfully the walk to the hospital didn’t take long but their talking helped to pass the time while I was busy filling out forms and waiting for a nurse to collect me. Every now and then they would try to peak over my shoulder to read the name I had written down on this form or read my birthday that was on another.

It seemed like an eternity before the forms were completed and I was able to pull my ass out of the uncomfortably hard plastic seat they call a chair. Tucking the pen into the clipboard, I walked to the nurse’s station and laid the board on the desk; the nurse quickly glanced up from her computer and huffed out an exaggerated sigh as her hand reached out to retrieve the papers.

“Do you have your insurance card?”

“I just started my job; the insurance doesn’t kick in until next month. Do you have any kind of assistance program?  Those two over there told me they come here all the time and they get help.” I asked, nodding to the brothers.

“Here,” she started, “read over this, call the 800 number in the morning. Give them your name, when you were here and let them know you need assistance in making payments.  Don’t let yourself get mixed up with that pair over there; they’re nice guys but they’re about as rowdy as they come.  Unfortunately, due to HIPPA and patient privacy laws I can’t tell you about the things we’ve treated them for but if you ask them yourself I’m sure they’d be more than proud to show you their badges.”

“I take it that means they’re frequent flyers?”

The nurse scoffed at my question, rolling her eyes, “that’s an understatement! Look, I already told you I can’t tell you what they’ve been admitted for but what I can say is that if you value your life, liver, and health you need to stay away from them.  Someone will come get you when we have an exam room open.”

I returned to my seat mulling over the nurse’s warning. They didn’t look like bad guys on the surface, sure they had some visible scars but there wasn’t anything obvious that sent me into ‘red alert’ mode.  The cold plastic touching the backs of my legs told me I was better off taking my jacket off and laying it across the seat to provide my butt with a little bit of warmth but then the rest of my body would be cold.  Braving the hospital grade blast of cold air that filtered down from the ceiling fans, I held my breath and slowly lowered myself into the plastic chair, feeling my back seize up while my teeth began chattering against each other.

“Cold?”

“Nope, wonder what gave you that impression.”

“Smart ass; take mine.”

“Thanks, sorry what was your name again?”

“Connor.”

“Thanks, Connor.”

He shucked his coat off and held it out, allowing me to slip my arms through the sleeves to wear it backwards. Admittedly, I wanted to inhale deeply when I pressed the collar of the coat to my nose but my face was as cold as the rest of me and I didn’t want to seem like a weirdo in front of him.

“So where’d your brother run off too?”

“Murph? Don’t quite know ta be honest.  He could be taking a piss or he could be trying ta pick some girl up.  You were talking with Miranda fer quite some time.”

“The one at the nurse’s station?”

“That’d be her; don’t let her intimidate ya, she tries ta tell everyone we meet ta stay away from us but she’s just mad dat we won’t ask her out. She’s got herself a crush on ole Murph and an even bigger one on me.”

“Getting a little smug there, aren’t you? Would it be wrong of me to ask why neither of you will take her out?”

“She saw us in our britches a little over a year ago and has been chasing after us ever since. She’s not really interested in us as people, only interested in what’s below da belt.” Murphy answered, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Where da fuck you’d go?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Did seeing Miranda send you running for the hills?” I teased as I continued to wait for someone to come and collect me.

“Not quite.”

A small giggle echoed through the empty white-walled waiting room, seconds later a leggy blonde came walking through one of the various hallways, giving a wink to the brother who remained standing. A crooked grin worked its way across his features as the tips of his ears began turning from pink to red.  Her walk was a little wobbly and her lipstick was smudged just a bit but I failed to see a single hair on her head out of place.  She disappeared through another corridor; a sign above indicated there was an exit in that direction.

“Really Murph? In a fucking hospital?!”

“Connor, leave him be. If she’s staff at least she’s in the right place to get herself tested.”

“Ya saying I’m diseased?”

“Not saying that at all, just saying that if you knocked her up she’s in the right place for a pregnancy test. The old pull out method isn’t always a guarantee.”

“Is that from experience?” Murphy snickered, flopping down unceremoniously into the seat next to me.

“Someone who I thought was my friend back in high school was seeing some guy that was two years older than her and she lost her virginity to him. She came up to me during lunch one day and said that she missed her period; I invited her over to my house that night since it was a Friday and told her she could take the test if she didn’t want to do it at home.  I’m sure you can imagine a 15 year old girl being scared to have that particular talk with her mom.  Anyway, she came over and brought her test with her, peed on the stick, waited, and it turned blue.  She cried the entire night knowing she’d have to tell her parents and the guy.  Naturally her parents didn’t take it too well; when Monday came and she told him…it was not a good morning.  I heard him screaming clear across the hall that he pulled out and that she must’ve been screwing around with someone else.  Last I heard, she’s got a six year old little boy and he’s getting his wages garnished for child support.”

“Does she know fer a fact-”

“From what I heard they both demanded a DNA test when the baby was born; it must’ve come back showing he was the father otherwise she wouldn’t have a court order for child support.”

“Why do ya say dat she was supposed ta be yer friend? Somet’ing happen?”

“Fucking bitch turned her back on me when I needed her help; she was pregnant at the time but I mean if I gave you my shoulder cry on when that test came back positive the least she could’ve done was let me cry on her shoulder when I needed to, ya know? It must be nice though being twins, you’ll never have that problem; you’ll always have your brother when you need him.”

The waiting game for an empty exam room had my patience growing thinner as the minutes dragged on. Thirty minutes turned into an hour, an hour turned into two, two turned into two hours and fifty-six minutes before I was finally called back.

“Want us ta go with ya?”

“I’ll be fine, besides this shouldn’t take too long. Maybe you can go find that cute little blonde again and double team her.” I suggested, giving Connor his coat back and following another nurse into the back.

“Sorry for your wait, normally we’re not this busy on a Friday night but there have been a lot of stupid people doing stupid stuff.”

“I get it; HIPPA says you can’t talk about it.”

“We’re going around the corner here into room four,” she started as we walked through the halls, “so what happened? I see you came in with Connor and Murphy-”

“I got stabbed earlier while I was on a walk; I’ve already called the police but the jackass that answered the phone said just about everyone was responding to some kind of shooting. I think he said it was a homicide.  Hopefully someone will call me back either tomorrow or Monday.”

“Thank you for getting ahold of the police yourself, it’ll be one less call we’ll have to make and a hell of a lot less waiting for you.”

“So I’ll get to go home at a somewhat reasonable hour? I’m sure that’ll make those two out there happy.”

“Not to sound rude or anything, but why are those two with you? Normally they show up sporting fat lips and black eyes.”

“They offered to walk me down because the urgent care was closed. I shouldn’t say ‘they’ rather Murphy offered and he volunteered his brother.  I’m glad it was both of them though; they’ve really helped keep my mind off what’s going on with my arm.”

“Well, before we stitch it up we’ll need to take some x-rays and some scans just make sure nothing is seriously damaged. I’m just a nurse but I don’t think there’s anything severed like an artery otherwise you’d be bleeding out all over the place and you would’ve been rushed in as soon as you walked through those doors.”

“Can we skip the formalities and just start with the stitches? My insurance doesn’t kick in until next month and I have to call patient services to try and get some help making payments.”

“I wish we could sweetie but I don’t think you want to make another trip here when you do have insurance to get it fixed a second time.”

Knowing she was right, I allowed her to finish taking my vitals and escort me to the x-ray room then to get an MRI. Unfortunately for the nurse she had to have the technicians stop the MRI machine several times due to my claustrophobia.  Reluctantly, I agreed to let her bring one of the twins back to hold my hand in a vain attempt to help me keep calm.  As the nurse returned I heard her voice talking in a hushed tone and one of the boys stifling a laugh.

I swear, if one of those assholes is laughing at me, I’ll cut him.

“Murphy, be serious for a change, okay? She’s been doing fine until now but as soon as she starts hearing the beeps and clicks from the machine she starts freaking out.  I’ve seen grown men and women wet themselves in this machine and if you holding her hand makes the difference I’m sure she’ll be eternally grateful.  For some people putting a towel over their eyes helps tremendously and for others they need something physical to remind them that they’re going to be alright.  Just do this one thing for me and I’ll get Miranda off your case.”

“I honestly wasn’t laughing at her but if ya could get Miranda off da both of us we’d be forever grateful to ya. What’d ya have in mind?”

“I’ll just tell her you both got syphilis from some random chick you both hooked up with. It got Al Capone out of Alcatraz, you know.”

“C’mon Sandra, dat’s just plain mean.”

“Then you can deal with Miranda on your own.” The door to the imaging room opened, allowing another blast of cold air to enter the room and sending me into another back seizing shiver.  “Sweetie, I got Murphy here, okay?  He’s just going to be sitting outside the machine holding your hand, okay?  Do you need anything before we start?”

“A blanket if you can spare one? It’s freezing in here.”

Even with a towel covering my eyes I could feel the nurse, now named Sandra, nod. The sound of a cabinet door opening and closing coupled with the feeling of something warm being draped over my legs brought a small bit of comfort that for the moment I was no longer as cold as I was.  The legs of a chair scratched the tiled floors and soon a hand was holding mine, bring about the biggest sense of relief that I had felt since this whole night began to unravel.  Once the door clicked shut the beeps and thumps began again; my heart started racing and I could feel the tears threatening to spill outward.

“C’mon lass, don’t cry it’s only a machine. I promise, you’re not gonna get stuck and you’re definitely not gonna die.”

His words did just the opposite of what he intended and I couldn’t help but to cry as the grip I had on his hand tightened. A voice over the PA system could be faintly heard through the beeps and just as quickly as the procedure started, it stopped.  The door flung open, hitting the wall hard enough it had me jumping.  Seconds seemed like hours as the table slid along the track, coming out of the machine.

“Murphy, go wait with Connor back in the waiting room. C’mon sweetie, let’s get you back to your room and we’ll get you stitched up.”

As we retreated back to the exam room, Sandra apologized profusely for the trauma I had endured while in the machine and her regret for bringing Murphy back instead of Connor. She had thought that Murphy would be a more calming presence but it was obvious that he stuck his foot in his mouth when he opened it.  Sandra tried to ask what it was that he said but I refused to answer.  Once we were back in the exam room, Sandra picked through the drawers for a tray, needle, and sutures; laying the items out for the doctor whenever he or she decided to show up.

It was another half hour before someone came back into the room.

" _MOTHERFUCKER!_ " I exclaimed nearly flying off the exam room table and through the ceiling as the doctor attempted to place the first stitch.

Apparently my attacker had done a bit more damage than anticipated and, according to the x-rays (and the doctor) I would temporarily lose the use of my left arm for a couple of weeks. It turns out that the blade had worked its way through some muscle and started tearing through some tendons.

"Ma’am, before I attempt to put another stitch in, I'm going to have the nurse come in and give you a local anesthetic. We'll let that kick in and then I'll be back to finish up." I had opted to get the stitches done without any type of numbing agent in the vain hope that the adrenaline that picked back up upon our arrival would be enough to get me through.

How wrong I was.

With that, the doctor disappeared behind the curtain and was replaced by Sandra, who was making notes all over my chart. God forbid they forget to charge me for something they used to fix my shoulder.

“Guess you’re still having a tough time after what happened in the MRI machine? Not that it’s any of my business but did you have anything to drink before you came here?  You seem to be bleeding a bit more than normal.”

“I had a shot of whiskey before I came here hoping it would give me nerves of steel. I know, alcohol thins the blood; my guy refused to tattoo me if I had even a drop left in me from the night before because he didn’t want me to bleed out.  Does this mean it might take more anesthesia before the doctor can finish?”

“Maybe, everyone is different. I’ll start with a normal dosage and we can adjust it if needed.  Do you want me to bring you a book or something until it kicks in?”

“No thank you, if you could though get tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb I’d appreciate it. I may need their help walking out of here depending on how much you give me.”

“Are you sure? I mean after what Murphy said to you in the imaging room I wouldn’t trust him to make me feel better.”

“I’m sure, besides I’m sure he’s had plenty of time to think of an appropriate apology and I’m sure Connor’s chewed his ass out in the meantime.”

“As long as you’re sure, I’ll go get them.”

Sandra took out an alcohol laced pad and swiped it along the crook of my arm; using an elastic strap she tied the flow of blood off and waited a minute for a good vein to make its appearance. As she waited, she retrieved another alcohol pad, a needle, and a vile containing the local.  Using her middle finger, Sandra prodded my arm until she found the vein she was looking for.  Quickly, she tore the packaging of the second alcohol pad and swiped it along my arm.  I couldn’t stop myself from holding my breath as the needle was jammed into my arm and the elastic was released.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I know you’re hurting and I’m not doing much to make it better, am I?”

“It’s not your fault; I just have a bit of a weak stomach and an even weaker nerve. My mom used to be a nurse and she would sometimes have patients like me.  I remember when I had to take her to get a CT scan done a few years ago she asked if I could stay in the room with her and hold her hand until it was over; she was claustrophobic too.  I also remember that whenever I had to have surgery she would hold my hand when the nurses would start prepping me for the IV.  The nurses would try to tell me to breathe instead of holding my breath but I couldn’t help it.

“The first major surgery I can remember, they tried to start an IV and ended up trying to go through my wrist on the first attempt; the nurse blew that vein then she blew the one in my right arm on the second attempt.” A shudder moved throughout as I recalled the sensation those blown veins brought.

“I promise, I’m going to do everything I can to make you comfortable. You know, a lot of nurses aren’t like your mom and I; they don’t try to make their patients comfortable anymore.  I guess we’re kind of a rare breed these days, huh?  I’ll just let that anesthetic start working and by the time I get back with the boys we should be good to start stitching you up.”

The only evidence that I had even been stuck was the tiny blood droplets that rose to the surface.

Minutes later, Sandra returned to the room with the boys in tow. Connor was shoving Murphy’s shoulder, giving him grief no doubt about his closet room hook-up a few hours ago.  However they fell silent when they entered the room.  I knew I looked like a mess – face tear-stained from the prolonged battle with claustrophobia, blood flowing from both my shoulder and arm.

Hell, I’d bet money that I looked pretty fucking pitiful.

But it really didn’t matter how I looked, all I cared about was getting this visit done and over with so that I could go home and lock myself away for the remainder of the weekend until Monday forced me out of bed and back into the world.

"She's all good to go boys, just make sure she keeps that arm in the sling for the next couple of weeks and no heavy lifting; nothing over 10 pounds. It's good to see both of you with fresh faces as opposed to the bleeding, bruised messes I'm used to dealing with just about every weekend."

Connor chuckled a bit at the doctor's attempt at humor, slapping his brother on the back with enough force to knock him off balance and pitched him forward slightly. "Well, ya know Michael no week is complete fer us till we make a trip here ta see you and our favorite Nurse Sandra."

With my discharge papers in hand I hopped off the exam table and made a beeline for the door, completely disregarding anything anyone tried to tell me about putting my jacket on. I should’ve heeded their warnings because it was burr fucking cold out!  A growl of frustration escaped as I shoved my arms through the sleeves despite what the good doctor ordered.

“You coming or not? I would like to go home before I freeze my tits off out here.”

“Someone’s a bit cranky.”

I said nothing as the twins exited the hospital knowing that I would more than likely say something I’d regret. Afterall, they did help me get down here in one piece and it wouldn’t be right to rip their heads off because I was having a bad night.

The walk home was blessedly quiet; I had locked myself away inside my head to mull over the day's events trying to figure out a way to prevent myself from falling into the same pit fall again. I had managed to walk so far ahead of the boys that Murphy was practically running to catch onto my right arm, jostling me out of my thoughts.

"Didn't ya hear anything we were just saying to ya?" he was panting a little bit and that was when the smell of cigarette smoke hit my nose as it danced along the night breeze. I blinked a little bit, not sure if it was out annoyance or shear tiredness. "Connor and I were gonna stop by da bar fer a few pints; d'ya want ta join us?"

“Not tonight, I just want to go home.”

Murphy nodded in understanding, calling out to his brother to hurry his ass up. We made it to the building about 10 minutes later and after seeing me safely to my front door, Connor tried asking again if I'd want a drink with them.  I refused once more then proceeded to unlock the door.  With the door was securely closed behind me I slipped my shoes off and headed straight to bed.


End file.
